


Fortress 'Round My Heart

by CatalpaWaltz



Series: Fortress!Verse [1]
Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatalpaWaltz/pseuds/CatalpaWaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton had hinted at the knowledge percolating through the General's family that Ben had indeed become one of His Excellency's most favored, most trusted, most <i>intimate</i> circle, and Ben had flushed with quiet pride at this. </p><p>"And there are advantages," Ham had said, his mouth curling in a smug smile, "to being so well-regarded. More than you might imagine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a totally offhand comment by Nimravidae about GWash's "harem of twinks" that spiraled out of control and turned into this mess.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: The primary pairings here are going to be Ben Tallmadge/Lafayette, Ben Tallmadge/Alexander Hamilton and Ben Tallmadge/George Washington. This is a Ben-centric story. If you're here from the Hamilton musical fandom, this might not be the fic for you.

Hamilton had hinted at the knowledge percolating through the General's family that Ben had indeed become one of His Excellency's most favored, most trusted, most _intimate_ circle, and Ben had flushed with quiet pride at this.

"And there are advantages," Ham had said, his mouth curling in a smug smile, "to being so well-regarded. More than you might imagine."

Ben had responded with some stammering hodgepodge of polite phrases, but later found himself wondering at the meaning of Ham's choice of words.

Then Ben began to receive regular invitations to dine with the family, which occasions he certainly treasured for the boisterous companionship of the General’s aides, but also for the gazes he sometimes caught from the General himself: their dark, focused intensity, half-lidded eyes promising _something_ that Ben could not fully fathom. The warmth that followed, that spread up his spine and through his limbs, was, he assumed, merely from the pleasure at being so thoughtfully included among such an illustrious group.

Once, as Ben could feel his skin heating under one of those looks, he was met with a more tangible sensation: a hand, hot as a brand even through the suede of his breeches, moving with unmistakeable intent up his thigh. He chanced a glance beside him, where Col. Hamilton was paying him no mind, but sharing a joke with McHenry.

The hand gave a gentle, experimental squeeze. Ben could feel his pulse begin to quicken, his face go hot, and he took another draught of his drink, that his fellows might assume the flush that colored his cheeks was simply the product of overindulgence.

It was some minutes before Hamilton withdrew the touch, but not before he had run his knuckles, feather light, over the bulge in Ben's tightening breeches, and had traced whimsical curli-cue patterns over the sensitive skin of his knee.

Ben rose to leave the table when everyone else had declared their intention to retire. If he hurried a little on his way, if he was just that much more eager to attain the quiet and privacy of his tent, no one said anything of it.

However, he had not made it more than halfway before he was joined by the Marquis, who placed a familiar hand at his elbow and slowed his pace.

“Pardon me, Major,” he said, his manners impeccable even as his pronunciation faltered, “but let us walk awhile.”

"Of course," said Ben, who prayed to heaven that his voice did not sound as high and breathy to the Marquis as it did to his own ears.

“I know we do not know each other so very well. I have been remiss. I should have known that someone so esteemed by His Excellency would be one who I should seek to make my friend.”

"That's kind of you to say, sir."

Lafayette waved his hand through the air in a gesture that managed to be somehow both imperious and disarming.

"Please, we can reserve that kind of talk for His Excellency. Brothers-in-arms do not call each other 'sir.'"

It seemed out of line to Ben to note the fact that Lafayette outranked him considerably, both militarily and socially, so he said nothing.

"So, Benjamin," continued Lafayette, "I should like to learn more about you, if that is agreeable to you?"

It felt like some kind of test. He was sure it was a test. But Ben had always been such an excellent student, so eager to please.

"It is -- that is -- it would be. Agreeable to me."

“Excellent," said Lafayette, teeth glinting in the firelight, "And so, with that goal in mind, I have a proposition for you."

\-------------

Some hours later he left Lafayette's tent, limbs loose and shivering with the remnants of his orgasm, mind still hazy with disbelief at what had occurred, what he had just done.

This was not to say that he was in any way displeased with what had happened, nor that he was particularly confused. He knew perfectly well where his inclinations lay, and Lafayette was held up as the standard of gentlemanly elegance and form by everyone in camp.

He had asked, when the Marquis had been busy divesting Ben of his waistcoat, "Why me? Why -- when you could have anyone at all?" and Lafayette had responded by taking Ben's face in his hands and kissing him with all the tender sweetness which Ben thought a kiss could possibly contain.

"It is because you would ask such a question, dear Benjamin. Because you do not know your own worth."

After that, there had been very little talking.

\------------

Ben would never have dared to assume that such a thing could happen again, but it did. And then a third time. And soon he was rather more well-acquainted with the lines and contours of Lafayette's body, the places he liked to be touched, the sounds that he made in the throes of passion, than he had ever dared imagine he would be.

It was very nice.

What did cause him some trepidation was the fact that he had also not ceased to be an object of Hamilton's lighthearted flirtations.

He'd be waiting in the front hall of whatever house was serving as headquarters that week, to deliver some piece of news or give some report, and Hamilton would walk by, obviously deep in thought, a scrap of paper in his hand or a quill between his teeth, but never failing to toss Ben a quick wink and a smile, or to brush his fingers over the small of his back as he marched on to his next task.

It was not unpleasant, but it did leave Ben wondering what the Colonel's intentions were. He knew he and Lafayette talked, indeed, that they were the closest of compatriots. Surely he must have heard...surely Lafayette must have said something, even if only to brag about Ben as a successful conquest (and oh but that did sting a little, as much as he wished it would not). And yet Hamilton continued, seemingly undeterred.

In retrospect, knowing what he knew about Hamilton's fabled persistence, what happened afterward was perfectly predictable.

\---------------

Ben was on his elbows and knees, head bowed forward to rest in Lafayette's lap , while Hamilton knelt behind him, hands keeping Ben's legs spread wide as his tongue worked to drive him to ever-greater heights of distraction. He was trying so very hard to keep quiet, so very hard to be good, but Hamilton had found one particular spot that was making him feel as though he were melting and burning and flying all at once, and it took two of Lafayette's fingers in his mouth to muffle the sound he made.

"What a pretty picture he makes," mused Lafayette, as he pushed Ben's hair out of his eyes. "I think His Excellency would relish this sight, don't you Ham?"

Ben jolted, his head rearing back as Hamilton had to tighten his hold on Ben's legs to keep him in place.

"Wh-what?" he spluttered, as Hamilton drew back to throw a few vicious phrases in French at Lafayette which Ben could not understand.

He'd never been much of a dab hand at modern languages.

"Oh, do relax Hammy. It is not as though this can come as a complete surprise to him," replied Lafayette (in English, which fact Ben appreciated.)

"Yes, but there is such thing as appropriate timing."

Distantly, Ben wondered if he ought to be bothered by the fact that they were speaking about him as though he were not present. He wondered if he ought to be bothered by the fact that he actually rather liked it.

He collected himself, taking deep, measured breaths as he had taught himself to do when this whole affair had begun, when he had had to learn how to be the focus of so much concentrated attention without dissolving into a cold chaos of self-consciousness and self-doubt.

"If I may be so bold as to ask," he said, his voice hoarse but strong, "what are we talking about?"

Lafayette chuckled and resumed stroking his hair, pausing to press a kiss to Ben's temple before he spoke.

"His Excellency, it was actually he who bade us -- er, well, I recall the word he used, but if there is one perhaps more polite --"

"Who bade us explore the possibility," said Ham, voice slightly muffled from between Ben's legs, "that you might be receptive to something of this nature." The moment he concluded the sentence he returned his mouth to its previous work, and Ben had to choke back a moan that he knew would be loud enough to put half the camp on alert.

He had realized the nature of his attachment to the General quite early in their professional relationship. But he had not agonized over it as much as might be expected, since in the end it seemed to him a relatively safe place to dedicate his affections. He hardly needed to worry about governing his countenance when the General was around, since nearly everyone in the nation viewed the man with naked admiration, if not awe. And the chance of anything actually happening was so impossibly remote that there was no risk of true heartbreak or even disappointed hopes. His hopes were non-existent.

But to learn this? To be told...this? That the General desired him as he desired these paragons with which he surrounded himself, these men who were so clearly deserving of love, whose intelligence and valor and generosity and capability were renowned throughout the army?

"Easy, easy," said Ham, his voice low and soothing as he rubbed slow circles into the small of Ben's back. But the gesture was not entirely necessary. Ben was not overcome by embarrassment at having had this revelation made to him, or mortification at having his own desire for Washington exposed. No, he was consumed with the sudden possibilities that were now open to him, the fantasies that had already begun to spin themselves in his mind's eye. He was elated, electrified.

Lafayette, who by now was quite adept at reading Ben's expressions, tipped his chin up and forced Ben to meet his gaze. After a moment he leaned back, apparently pleased with what he saw there.

"You like that idea, don't you Benjamin?" he asked, voice dark and smooth and _dangerous_. Ben nodded mutely, and Lafayette chuckled, slipping a thumb past Ben's lips.

"Do you hear that, Hammy? It's just as His Excellency hoped. You will be good for him, won't you Benjamin? When the time comes?"

Ben moaned. Lafayette laughed. Against his skin, Ben felt Hamilton smile.

\---------------

With the coming of winter matters between the three of them seemed to accelerate even as the business of the war ground to a halt.

Roads closed down, correspondence could not flow, armies could not move, and the only occupation in camp seemed to be finding new ways to squeeze every ounce of enjoyment from their limited whiskey rations. Ben was just as hamstrung as everyone else by the weather, and at any rate it was doubtful that there was anything important enough going on in New York to even merit reporting. The consequence if this was, of course, that they had a lot more time to indulge in what was quickly becoming their favorite pastime.

Lafayette had been able to secure for himself a cottage not far from camp, which served by day as his own little headquarters, but by night afforded the kind of privacy that could be found nowhere else for miles. And they took full advantage of it.

"You are truly getting good at this," groaned Hamilton, as Ben grinned around the cock in his mouth. He hummed his appreciation at the complement, low in his throat, a trick he had picked up from Lafayette, and Hamilton's eyes slammed shut, his hand tightening in Ben's hair (but not too tight, never that, never more than what Ben needed.)

Lafayette was observing the scene from a distance, seated in a plush armchair, eyes half-hooded, one hand beneath the waistband of his breeches pulling languorously at his cock.

"I have a question for you Hammy," he asked, after a little while.

"What's that?" asked Hamilton, his voice rough and ragged in way that made Ben practically puff up with pride.

"What you said about 'appropriate timing.' Do you think that this qualifies?"

Hamilton gave a bark of laughter that ended in a moan, as Ben tried a few tricks of his own invention.

"Oh Ben," he said, "you have no idea how very impatient our dear Marquis has been to talk about this. Every day he asks me: may we do it now? May we tell him now? Utterly shameless."

Ben considered this, then pulled his mouth away from its work.

"If you don't mind me asking," he said cheekily, "what's kept you?"

Lafayette laughed, and Hamilton harrumphed as he gently guided Ben back into place by his queue.

"We were given very specific instructions by His Excellency," said Lafayette, "to let you in on the secret only when you had obtained sufficient ease and confidence in your...talents."

Ben processed this statement, and something in him went cold at the thought. Yes, it made sense that the General should only want him once he had acquired the requisite level of skill in the art of pleasing, once there was no longer any risk of him blundering his way through an encounter with all the gracelessness of the virgin he had been but a few months ago.

Something of these thoughts must have shown in his face, because Hamilton cupped his jaw with one hand and pushed him off carefully, tilting his head so that he was looking up into Hamilton's eyes.

"Do not mistake our meaning," he said, suddenly solemn. "It is not as though His Excellency has not always desired you as you are. I do not think there is anything he would have liked more than to be the first to introduce you to every kind of pleasure."

"But?" asked Ben, desperately trying to scrub his voice of all traces of bitterness.

"But," said Hamilton, "he would never take your comfort for granted, nor risk you being placed in a situation that you did not desire because you knew no way to refuse. And for that, he was more than willing to have patience."

Ben felt a little reassured by this, though he still could not help but have more questions. But as he was considering how best to ask them, Lafayette rose from his chair and made his way toward the bed.

"There is of course one pleasure which he demanded we leave to him, that he _will_ be the first to introduce you to," he said, sliding onto the coverlet to kneel behind Ben, letting his hands alight on Ben's waist.

"And that is?" asked Ben, looking over his shoulder at where Lafayette was fiddling with the lid of a tin of salve.

Lafayette met his eye, apparently surprised. He blinked.

"Why, to fuck you, of course."

It was, perhaps, the one thing that he had not done with either Hamilton or Lafayette, though he had been conscious enough of his own ignorance of these matters that he had assumed there must be some other reason why neither of them had ever suggested it. The thought that they had refrained because he was somehow off-limits, at least in this respect -- because he had been _claimed_? It was almost too much to bear.

As he recovered from this latest minor shock, he felt the now-familiar sensation of Lafayette's fingers at his entrance, warm and slick and teasing. But suddenly the gesture had a new significance, spoke of new possibilities that had heretofore been relegated to his most remote, most unlikely fantasies.

"Let's see," said Hamilton, brushing Ben's hair out of his eyes as he pushed himself back against Lafayette's fingers, demanding more of what he wanted, just as they had taught him. "What else does he need to know, do you think? In the interest of being fully prepared."

Lafayette considered this as Hamilton leaned forward to suck a bruise into the skin of Ben's neck.

"He should know that His Excellency will go slowly. Too slowly. He will feel like he will go mad from the waiting, but he must wait." Lafayette accompanied this pronouncement with a demonstration, withdrawing his fingers and drawing slow, featherlight circles around Ben's entrance. Ben wanted to protest, to groan his displeasure, but he did not. If he had to learn to be patient, if that was what His Excellency would require of him, then he would learn.

"Yes," said Hamilton, "and that he will not be moved by pleading."

"But when the waiting is done," said Lafayette, growing restless with the power of his own recollections, "when he has prepared you to his satisfaction, and he enters you, it will feel like eternity itself before he permits himself to move."

It occurred to Ben again that they were speaking of him as though he were not actually present between them, held suspended between Lafayette's fingers within him and Hamilton's lips on his neck. He allowed himself to savor it, to bask in the feeling of something to be spoken /about/, and not someone to be spoken to.

"Oh, that is the very worst," said Hamilton eagerly. "And I am certain that the more you beg him to, the longer he keeps himself still. It is maddening."

They went on like this for a while, exchanging observations and recommendations until Ben thought his heart would burst from it, from the vividness of the images they inspired, from the growing realization that he, too, would soon have such memories of his own. He was soon so far gone that he quite lost track of who was saying what.

"He likes it most when he can see your face, and his eyes will not break from yours for a single moment."

"He might make you stand afterward, if you can manage it, so that he might see his seed dripping out of you."

"Though he will release on to your back, or your chest, if you ask for it."

"Or your face, if you have pleased him especially."

"You have to know how much he's been looking forward to having you, Benjamin, to be the first one to have you like this. He thinks about it so often, we know he does."

Ben's climax came upon him with such intensity that he saw stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title from Oh My God by Ida Maria, which song I think perfectly encapsulates Ben's constant state of *internally screaming* that characterizes his mood in this fic. 
> 
> hmu on tumblr @ [catalpa-waltz](http://www.catalpa-waltz.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

 Chapter 2

Ben's anticipation and nerves had at that point worked themselves up to such a pitch that Hamilton and Lafayette rather took pity on him, and agreed to arrange his interview with His Excellency for as soon as it might be accomplished.

For those last few days before the event, Ben could only curse the fact that he had so little work to do and so little opportunity of being distracted from the seemingly interminable wait. He tried to make up for the deficit by volunteering for any menial duty he could convince his fellow officers to give him; unloading the meager cartloads of supplies when they came, helping to dig out the doors of the troops' makeshift cabins when fresh snow fell and piled up in drifts about the camp, even running errands for the washerwomen and seamstresses who attended the troops. He knew he ought to feel degraded by the work, for it was beneath his station and many told him so, but there was no other way for him to relieve the constant buzzing hum of tension that had made its home beneath his skin.

And, if he was being honest with himself, it felt as though in submitting to such lowly labor in service to the cause he was somehow...purifying himself, making himself worthy for the honor he had been told to expect. He could not achieve Lafayette's easy aristocratic grace and generosity, or Hamilton's startling facility with words, but he could still be _useful_ \--- not useful enough to truly earn the General's affections, perhaps, but he had to try.

In the end, the call came after Ben had spent a long day helping the wainwrights repair some broken-down carts they could not afford to replace. He was already sore all over, his back and his arms aching, and in truth thinking only of getting to his bed. But when Col. Tilghman came by and informed him that he was expected at the Marquis's lodgings immediately, all thoughts of rest evaporated.

He endured the short breakneck ride to the rented farmhouse, unwilling to risk coming too late by arriving on foot, and he fairly burst through the door in a shower of snowflakes, praying that he had not kept Washington waiting.

But Washington was not there. Instead there was only Lafayette, leaning casually against the mantle in the front parlor, a glass in his hand.

He raised one elegant eyebrow at Ben's dramatic entrance.

"Is there a fire?" he asked, infuriatingly nonchalant. 

Ben aggressively shoved down his rising disappointment. He had been so ready...But then, surely this was not really a surprise? It was clear that Lafayette had merely called him here to inform him that the plan was abandoned, that His Excellency had realized his mistake, and that there would be no reason for his valued proteges to continue to waste their time grooming him for his anticipated role. 

He drew in a deep, wavering breath. Yes, of course that was it. Of course.

Lafayette moved to the sideboard and poured a second glassful, which he handed to Ben with a gentle order to drink.

That was kind of him, Ben thought: to make him feel at ease before he broke the news. The Marquis truly was the paragon that everyone claimed him to be.

"Now," said Lafayette, after draining his own glass, "have we calmed down a little?"

Ben mumbled out a half-formed apology, something about his indecorous behavior that Lafayette did not seem to be listening to.

"Good. It would not do to have you be too over-agitated when the General arrives. Do drink up."

And just like that, Ben's hopes were renewed. But still he had to ask:

"The...plan is still settled, then?"

"Of course," said Lafayette breezily. "Why else would I have called you here?"

"I thought it was to tell me His Excellency had reconsidered," said Ben, feigning interest in the patterns in the worn calico that covered the sofa.

Lafayette actually laughed aloud.

"Oh, only you Benjamin, would imagine that after so much time and care you could be in any way unwanted."

Ben frowned at this. In truth, he had thought that he was beyond this. He had long-since ceased to worry that either Hamilton or the Marquis fraternized with him solely out of a sense of duty, because they were ordered to, and did not actually enjoy his company. But it was different, with Washington. Try as he might, he could not quite believe it.

"I'm sorry," he said. Lafayette only tutted at him, and tugged his queue playfully.

"I have told His Excellency to arrive at a later time, so that we may be ready to meet him when he does. It seemed the prudent thing to do. Now, finish that and get yourself upstairs. I will join you in a little while."

Ben did as he was told, repairing to the bedroom that he had come to know so well. He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, kicking his heels pensively, wondering if there was some way he ought to be using this time besides driving himself mad with anticipation. 

When he heard the sound of the front door opening below, creaking loudly on its hinges and letting in a blast of winter wind, he thought his heart had stopped in his chest. Struggling to keep his breathing deep and even, he listened intently to the sound of booted footfalls over the wooden floorboards.

But something about them did not seem quite right; they were too light, too quick, to be the stride of His Excellency. And indeed when he heard a voice coming up from the parlor, it was not the General's warm baritone.

"All is well?" asked Hamilton.

"Yes, other than the Major being the most contrary and confounding character I have ever come across," said Lafayette, with enough fondness in his voice that Ben did not feel stung by the half-criticism.

"Let me guess," said Hamilton, over the sound of the decanter being set down onto the side-board, "he still expects His Excellency to change his mind?"

"Is that not astounding?"

"It's remarkably predictable is what it is," said Hamilton, dryly. 

"His Excellency will be punctual?" said Lafayette.

"I hope so. He's been out-of-sorts all day, and when I asked him why he all but admitted it was because of this evening. Barring some emergency I am certain he will not allow himself to miss this."

Ben let these words settle for a moment, a warm thrill rising within him at the thought that the General had shared at least a portion of the agitation and distraction that had been his constant companion for days.

He continued to bask in that notion as Lafayette and Hamilton made their way upstairs, towards him.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, for all that he had been so on-edge with waiting for Washington's eventual arrival, he almost missed it when it happened.

The three of them were kneeling on the center of the mattress, Lafayette plying Ben with kisses and playing with his hair while Hamilton whispered an endless stream of filthy improvisations into his ear, his hands gripping Ben’s hips. 

Ben was fully dressed, save for his boots, as they had been quick to inform him that His Excellency would very much look forward to doing his own "unwrapping." So he was getting rather overheated his his winter-weight shirt, flushed and gasping for breath and increasingly agitated by the nonsense that Hamilton was whispering, his own heartbeat impossibly loud in his own ears.

Then, abruptly, Hamilton pulled away, swatting the top of Lafayette's head so that he would release Ben's lips.

Dazed, Ben turned to the side, blinking his bleary eyes clear, when his gaze alighted on a pair of boots in the center of the room. His eyes travelled upward, slowly, taking in the shape of the legs that filled the boots, the thighs in their cream-colored breeches, waistcoat and sash and jacket and cloak all still glittering with unmelted snow, the broad-shoulders, the strong neck. The face, etched with a look of such open and unabashed hunger that Ben felt as though all the air had been punched from his lungs.

Hamilton chuckled, bent forward to place a feather-light kiss at the underside of Ben's jaw.

"This is our cue to depart," he said. "Lafayette?"

But the Marquis had already extricated himself from the tangle of limbs that had been him and Ben, and followed Hamilton off the bedstead. 

Washington acknowledged his de facto chief-of-staff with a polite nod, so incongruously formal for the occasion, but Lafayette paused on his way out the door to draw Washington into a languorous kiss, that Washington permitted and that Ben recognized perfectly for what it was: a pointed reminder of a prior claim, a staking of territory.  Hamilton rolled his eyes. 

"Oh, do calm down. It won’t kill you to learn how to share."

Lafayette huffed as he pulled away, but he did not protest. Together they departed the room, leaving Ben and Washington alone.  
\--------------------

Ben felt dizzy, every fantasy that he had been spinning around this moment for weeks, for months, overlaying and colliding with one another in a jumble of guilty imagery. He could not decide what he wanted to have happen first, could not decide what to do. Did he say something? What should he say? So when Washington gave his first order, it was a blessed relief to be able to wipe his mind of all its tumultuous indecision and turn his focus to a single task: obey.

"Stand up, Major." Ben did.

"Come closer." Ben did.

"Look at me."

He had not realized that his eyes were fixed to the floor, but with the command, as though by an involuntary reflex, Ben looked up at his General, his head still slightly bowed.

But when Washington touched him, a wide, warm hand cupping his jaw, his thumb running over Ben's lips, Ben was forced to close his eyes again. No dream, no borrowed recollection or imagined scenario could ever compare to this, he was sure of it. He let his lips part, his mouth fall open just a fraction of an inch, but Washington did not accept the invitation to slip his thumb inside. He kept his focus. 

"It was my hope," Washington began, "that in employing such...proxies as Col. Hamilton and the Marquis, as I did, we might be able to dispense with some of the necessary preliminaries of discussion here tonight."

Ben hummed his agreement, and moved to press his body to Washington's, but was prevented by two powerful hands on his shoulders, holding him back.

"I said 'some' of the preliminaries. Not all. There are some things I still must ask you personally."

Ben could feel himself beginning to unravel. After months of being subject to his machinations, of allowing himself to be seduced by not one but _two_ of his staff officers, after learning that Washington wanted him, and still having to wait for _weeks_ to be able to give himself over to him, all the while communicating his desires and intentions very clearly to his so-called "proxies" --- how on god's earth could there be anything left to say?

"Anything, sir."

"Are you,” he said slowly, “ _entirely_ certain that this is what you want?"

Ben could not help himself. Half-hysterical, shaking, sweating in the confines of his impossibly restrictive clothes, he burst into peals of unrestrained laughter.

By the time he collected himself enough to make eye contact with Washington again, he was relieved to see that the General did not look offended by his outburst, merely confused.

Between gulping, hiccoughing breaths, Ben said: "I know you are renowned for your caution in making judgements, Your Excellency, but really, there comes a point when you must accept the evidence in front of your eyes."

And before Washington could come up with a suitable reply, Ben, summoning all the confidence and courage he had attained not simply in the last few months but ever since he had first donned a uniform, pulled Washington towards him in an earth-shattering kiss.

In very little time Washington had gained the upper hand, which Ben was all-too-willing to cede to him. He half-expected to be pushed up against the closed door or forced to his knees or tossed like a sack of flour upon the bed, but Washington did none of these things.

Instead, he withdrew from the kiss and pulled Ben's hands away from where they roughly gripped his shoulders, though he did not push him away entirely.  

For a moment Ben was afraid that he was about to be asked another question, but Washington said not a word. Instead he pulled off his gloves, the heavy leather hitting the floor with a startlingly loud sound, and Ben fought back the most fleeting, desperate thought of what things might be like if he left them on ( _next time next time next time_ said the voice in his head.) Then he brought his bare hands to Ben's throat and carefully began to untie the knot of his neckcloth, unwinding the fabric so slowly that Ben felt every inch of the thin linen scraping against his skin. With the same excruciating slowness, he eased Ben's arms from his coat sleeves, undid his waistcoat buttons, loosened the ties at his cuffs. Soon, Ben was entirely bare before his commander, valiantly fighting the urge to cover himself. But, summoning all the discipline that had ever been drilled into him, he stood at perfect attention, patiently awaiting his next order.

Washington exhaled a long, low breath. "Magnificent,"  he sighed, and Ben felt his cheeks flush in pleasure.

He bore the intensity of his scrutiny for a few long moments, watching Washington as his eyes moved from Ben's face, to his collarbones, then lingering at the scar on his right shoulder, and downward.

"You should know," he said, "I have been most impressed with you, since the very beginning. Very few captains would have been spirited enough to challenge me as you did that day, when we met. Do you recall it?"

Ben might have thought it a stupid question --  of course he remembered -- but he was too buoyed up by the praise to be anything but honest.

"I had feared I was being impertinent, sir."

"Oh, of that there is no doubt," said Washington. "Most impertinent. But somehow, in your case, I found I did not mind."

Ben met his gaze with a shy smile that he could not quite bring himself to make into a smirk, to return playfulness for playfulness.

"It has been a great privilege to watch you grow in talents and confidence as an officer, a privilege I did not look for."

Ben was quite ready to beg an end to the complements, certain he could not take anymore and keep his countenance. And yet, at the same time he was seized with the sudden urge to earn more words of praise from his commander, to prove how far he'd come, show him all of the things he'd learned, all the ways he knew to make him feel good. To prove that he had been worth waiting for.

Apparently having had his fill of looking for the moment, Washington urged him onto the bed. He draped his cloak and coat over the back of a chair, but made no further move to equalize their state of undress.

"I've heard you've been keeping yourself busy around camp."

"Yes, sir," said Ben, the first frost of cold shame already creeping up his spine as he thought about Washington hearing that he had spent hours the day before carting laundry and hefting flour barrels, like a common workman.

"It was well-done," said Washington. "Your dedication has not gone unnoticed, and in such a difficult winter as this one has been, it counts all the more. Indeed, it sets an example I should hope more officers would emulate."

Ben was well-and-truly blushing now. But how could he say that "the cause" had in fact been the farthest thing from his mind lately? That he had only done these things to distract himself, done them _for_ himself?

_"Well sir, I could not figure out a way to stop myself from thinking about your hands in my hair and your cock in my mouth and the only way to preserve my sanity seemed to be driving myself to exhaustion?"_

No, that would not do at all he thought, as he shifted himself carefully so that he was sitting against the headboard.

Washington did not miss the wince that accompanied this change of position, however much Ben had tried to hide it.

"Are you entirely well, Benjamin?" asked Washington.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you being entirely truthful?" he asked, the barest hint of a smirk on his face. Ben was perfectly ready to double-down on his denial, but as he tried to shift closer to the center of the mattress something in his shoulder protested so vehemently that he was forced to respond with the truth in spite of himself.

"No, sir."

Washington sighed.

"Lie on your front," he ordered, and Ben obeyed. He shivered when he felt the mattress shift as Washington joined him on the bed, then moved so he was kneeling over him, his knees placed on either side of Ben’s thighs.

When he felt the spread of those warm, calloused palms on his skin he had to stifle a truly embarrassing moan.

Washington tutted, even as he pressed the heels of his hands deeper into Ben's lower back.

"No, none of that. We will not be disturbed here. I wish to hear every sound that seeks to pass your lips." 

Ben whined as Washington began to dig his thumbs into the muscles along his spine, but recovered himself to give a proper answer.

"Is that an order, sir?"

Washington chuckled.

"If you are so set on being contrary, then yes, consider it an order."

"Understood sir," said Ben, smiling.

A few minutes of this, and Ben felt as though he had just spent an hour luxuriating in a warm bath. Washington kneaded out the knots in his shoulders, trailed his fingertips up and down Ben's arms until he shivered on the coverlet, then traced the lines of his body back down, over his ribs, to his hips, to the backs of his thighs. When he reached the sensitive, ticklish skin behind his knee Ben yelped and nearly leapt off the bed, only to be pinned by Washington's strong arm across his shoulders.

"My apologies, Benjamin," he said, his mouth so close that Ben could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck. He stilled himself at once.

"None necessary, sir," he gasped, his awareness consumed by the press of Washington's clothed body against his own. He felt enveloped, entirely surrounded by his solid warmth, the sheer scale of him utterly unbelievable.  They remained like that for a long moment, their breaths quick and shallow, as though all the air had gone out of the room.

Washington shifted above him, began to withdraw, and the thought of losing the comforting weight against his back threw Ben into a panic. Seized with a sudden boldness, Ben rolled his hips up and back in a fluid motion, pushing up onto his elbows to give himself more leverage.

This must have come as quite the surprise to Washington, who let out a sound so raw and shattered and magnificent that Ben shut his eyes for a moment and focused desperately on committing it to memory. One of Washington's hands went to his hip, holding Ben up even as he nudged a thigh between Ben's legs, pushing them further apart.

Ben lifted his hips again, putting the sinuous arch into his spine that he knew showed himself to his best advantage. Washington's hand moved from his hip to the swell of his ass and drew his palm over it with steady deliberation, as though considering the mathematics that defined its curvature. His fingers dipped into the crease and Ben pushed up towards them, desperate, chasing the promise they offered. 

"So eager, my boy?" said Washington, his voice ragged, pressing his hips to Ben's own. "You cannot bear to wait another moment for it, can you?"

"No sir --- please, I need --"

"What do you need?"

Ben keened, more frustrated than he would have believed possible. He struggled to remember Ham and Lafayette's advice -- wait for it, don't beg, don't try to rush, just take what he gives you --- but he had not imagined it would be so difficult to follow. He drew in a steadying breath.

"Whatever you want me to need, sir."

This earned him a playful smack to his flank, a half-chaste kiss dropped between his shoulder blades.

"An excellent answer, Major. Well done."

Before Ben could do anything to prevent it, Washington pushed himself up and left the bed, striding over to the chair where his coat hung. He rifled around in the pockets for a moment, before pulling out a little round tin no larger than a snuffbox. Ben certainly didn't need to be told what it contained, and his whole body hummed at the thought that Washington had been carrying it around with him all day, next to the warmth of his body, a solid reminder of their sordid secret.

Then Washington lifted his own hands to the topmost button of his waistcoat. Ben was sure it was just a trick of the light, but he thought he could see the fingers actually trembling as they began to work their way down the line. Feeling suddenly greedy, Ben leveraged himself off the mattress and went to stand before his commander.

"Please sir, let me."

Washington kept obligingly still as Ben divested him of waistcoat, sash, and belt. He did not move as Ben knelt in front of him, as he undid the buttons of his breeches, rolled down his stockings.

Ben remained on his knees for a little while, examining the familiar figure from this new angle. He cocked his head to one side, mouth falling open in a thoughtful moue.

"Something troubling you, son?'

The appellation sent shock waves through Ben, but he did not pause to think about what it meant. He was too absorbed by the sight in front of him.

"No sir, I just --" and without asking permission, he reached out and ran his hand along the curve of one calf, over his knee, the powerful thighs. He explored the juncture of leg and hip with the tips of his fingers, feeling the hints of a heartbeat there.

"It is nothing remarkable, as you can see," said Washington, making a vague gesture to encompass the whole of the body that had Ben so entranced.

Ben thought that was rather missing the point. It wasn't simply that the man was beautiful (he was) but that, to be permitted to see him --- when to all the rest of the world Washington was like a distant figure carved from stone, or a hollow shell consisting of nothing but a uniform and a stern face -- to see the flesh that made the man, to know it...

"Enough of this," snapped Washington. He yanked Ben to his feet and pulled him at once into a bruising, punishing kiss, all traces of patience erased. Still with one arm wrapped around Ben's waist, one hand cradling the back of his skull, holding him in place, Washington backed him into the side of the bed.

It was, in the end, nothing like what Hamilton and Lafayette had described. Washington did not go slow, did not tease. He was within Ben just as soon as could be reasonably expected, and he wasted no time in transforming Ben into a pleading, breathless, boneless mess. He was not as rough as Ben might have wanted ( _next time next time next time_ ), mindful of his aching muscles, but he was relentless, and thorough. And when it was done he cleaned Ben off with some water from the basin, returned to the bed, and drew Ben up against his chest, whispering a constant refrain of "my boy, my dear boy, you did so well, were so good," until Ben fell headlong into a dreamless sleep.

\-----------------

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I swear I'll write an actual foursome next time. There were just...too many dicks on the dancefloor to make it happen this go-round. But I think I'd like to set up camp in this 'verse for a little while, so stay tuned!


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